


of ignoring problems until they go away

by JaneDoe33



Series: Stiles Whump [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Stiles, Anxiety, Anxious Stiles, Dark Humor, Depressed Stiles, Eating disorder otherwise unspecified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Ignored Stiles, Lonely Stiles, Malnutrition, Mental Health Issues, Neglected Stiles, Oblivious Scott, PTSD Stiles, Panic Attacks, Scott is a Bad Friend, Scott is a Good Friend, Self Loathing, Sleep Deprivation, Slow Build, So this took a life of its own and began to do whatever it wanted, Starving Stiles, Stiles Feels, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles has an eating disorder, Stiles is starved, Stilinski Family Feels, Strained Stiles, Stressed Stiles, Suicidal Ideation, exhausted Stiles, future Sterek, scott angst, touch starved stiles, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDoe33/pseuds/JaneDoe33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is a good friend.He is.So Stiles has no right to feel abandoned by him.He does his best.Stiles is just being needy.Not that Scott knows.Not that Scott will <i>ever<i> know because if Scott finds out how pathetic he is he may not want to be friends anymore.So Stiles can't tell anyone.Anyone at all.</i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING.Mentions of eating disorders,panic attacks,suicidal ideation.Don't like ,don't read.I don't own any of the characters

It has been a while since Scott had called him.Which is fine.Scott has a lot on his plate.With Allison and being a werewolf and Allison and lacrosse. And Allison.

Does he feel any resentment?Nope.Nada.Not even a little.He is better than that.He wants to be better than that.

He has a life you know?No reason to mope because his friends -scratch that,his _only _friend- abandoned him.He has plenty to do.Lots to research.He is busy.Well,he tries to be.__

Information-no matter how detailed or useless-keeps him happy.Well,busy.It's important to stay busy.It provides a distraction from the ache in his chest when yet another call to Scott goes unanswered.

He throws himself into his role as unofficial pack researcher with gusto.Information is important, people.Every battle can't be fought with fangs and claws.The pack needs him.Scott needs him.

( _He tries not to think of how that seems to be less and less true as time goes on _.)__

He spends night after sleepless night researching mythical creatures,herbs,ancient texts,anything that might give them an edge over the Enemy.Whoever the Enemy happens to be at the moment.Kanima,darach,werewolf...all in a day's work.When ,in the morning, he looks half dead and his father comments,he laughs it off.His dad doesn't need any more to worry about.His dad is to be protected .Shielded from the shitstorm that is life in Beacon Hills.( _Besides,too much stress and his dad might go back to the bottle.Not to mention kidnapping,murder,etc are all potential occupational hazards _.)__

He makes sure to prepare healthy meals for his dad.Worries about his health obsessively.( _at the back of his mind always,is the knowledge that life is unfair and life is uncertain and at any given moment it may all disappear _)__

The lies pile up and every day he sees his father and himself grow farther apart,but he has no time to focus on his fracturing relationship with his only remaining family because he has to focus on not dying.And his friends not dying.Life seems to slip from them the way water slips through fingers.

He tries to ignore the churning anxiety in his belly(always a fan of ignoring problems till they go away).The way food seems to come up almost as soon as it goes down.The way he has trouble keeping down almost anything these days .But that's not such a big deal.Not compared to being turned against your will or having your whole family die (cough,cough,Derek) or being mind controlled by a psychopathic werewolf.

 

It doesn't matter.His problems don't matter.In,you know,the grand scheme of the universe.He is being a baby.

Scott blows him off again,sends a text and he stares at his phone,then makes a mad dash for the bathroom- he kneels in the bathroom,heaving over the toilet seat(how is anything still coming up?)

Scott doesn't need him any more.He is a superfluity.The pack doesn't need him,not really.Any idiot can google stuff.It's not rocket science.

His throat closes up and he gags again.

At school the next day,Scott slaps him on the back and tells him all about his date with Allison.All bright content puppy eyes and floppy hair.He beams at Stiles.Stiles forces a grin back at him.

He looks closely at Stiles,suddenly concerned.  
"Are you okay,dude?You look kinda pale."

It's exam stress,Stiles convinces him.Something normal.The kind of thing a normal high schooler stresses about.The kind of thing Scott would worry about.If he wasn't a werewolf,that is.Because Scott isn't fucked up.Not like Stiles.

 

He skips lunch,goes to the library.He doesn't want to spray Beacon High's innocent students with chunks of vomit.Gross image.But everything about him is gross.He knows that.Scott is a good friend so he pretends not to see.Scott has saved his life multiple times.Scott defends him from Jackson,Scott was there for him when his mom died.So what if he hasn't actually seen Scott outside of school and near death situations for the last six months?Scott has a lot on his plate.

He goes through the paranormal section.Idly he wonders if Lydia will be able to foresee their deaths.His death.Not that he wants to die of course.Obviously.It's just that he is really tired and sometimes he thinks it would be nice to sleep and not wake up again.Like,ever.Stop feeling,stop thinking.

In class,he sits at his desk and grins at Scott.Whispers "You wouldn't believe what I just found out about banshees."

Harris hands out the test papers.Surprise quiz.

He looks at the questions and this should be easy,he studied all this,yes,even with everything else going on.And it would be easy except that the words keep blurring together and he is having trouble reading.He looks up and there are two Harrises ,blending together and drifting apart again.Two of them?he thinks muzzily.Surely one was bad enough.Maybe two Harrises mean double the number of detentions.Which would suck,because he is barely staying on top of his work as it is.

The room blurs.

He feels a hand on his shoulder.Someone calling his name.But then the darkness swallows him and he feels vaguely relieved because that means a welcome respite from worrying for a while.

 

When he wakes up again,the hand is on his head.His face is wet.Why is his face wet?Why are people trying to wake him up?He thinks crossly.He wants to sleep.He keeps his eyes shut.

He has to sit up anyway because he feels sick and he feels instinctively blowing chunks all over bed is a bad idea.

He retches and nothing comes up.He sees Scott,almost nose to nose with him ,warm brown eyes looking worriedly at him. 

"Dude..Should I call the nurse?"

Stiles looks around.He is in hospital.In a hospital bed.And a hospital gown.With an IV stuck in his arm.

His dad must know what happened to him.He must be freaking out .As if he wasn't stressed enough, as if he doesn't have enough to worry about--this will do nothing good for his blood pressure--Stiles doesn't know what to do and he can't breathe and he feels like he is dying and why is breathing so hard--he can't even get this right,stupid fucked up Stiles---

"Stiles?Stiles?!You gotta breathe man.Come on,deep breaths,in and out,breathe with me.That's it..One.Two.Three...."

Scott helps him get his breathing back to a more normal pace and then he fills him in.Stiles passed out in class,he was rushed to the hospital and of course his dad was informed,he was on his way--(Stiles cringes)-

Scott's hand is still on his shoulder and he never breaks eye contact with him.His hand is still on Stiles' shoulder,a steady,grounding presence,keeping him anchored in the present.Stiles feels embarrassingly grateful that he is there with him,savours the minutes.Ridiculous he knows,but he has seen so little of Scott in the past few months--

The doctor said,Scott told him, the primary cause of the collapse was lack of sleep,dehydration and malnutrition.At least a week's rest was recommended.

(Later the doctor would tell the Sheriff that once the symptoms have been treated he would also like to take a closer look at the underlying problems--things like these don't just happen out of the blue.Whatever Stiles had been doing ,he had to have been doing for quite some time ,so long in fact ,that his body can't take it anymore)

For now there is only Scott talking quietly, next to him,chair drawn upto the bed,filling him in on everything he had missed while he was out.He shuts his eyes wearily as Scott speaks,comforted by Scott's solid presence at his side.He still feels like crap,he still has to deal with his problems,but for now,there is peace --the gaping hole in his chest seems to have shrunk a little as he listens to Scott talk contentedly.

After all,tomorrow is another day.

/p


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles is released from hospital after being poked and prodded a few more days by doctors and nurses and then the sheriff takes him home. Stiles pretends not to notice the sheriff casting covert worried looks at him when he thinks Stiles isn't aware.At home,he hovers. Actually _hovers _. Which Stiles finds extremely disconcerting. Worrying about other people was _his job _. Noone else should ever do it. That was the natural order of the universe.____

____ _ _

____Stiles laughs nervously and cracks a few jokes,tries to dispel the tension. It doesn't work._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____The sheriff makes dinner for them both,in a surprising turn of events. Cooking was also Stiles' job. That was how it should be. He felt oddly guilty about the meal. Especially since he knew the food probably wouldn't stay down._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____The sheriff clears his throat. Stiles,looks up,bracing himself for the questions._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____"So. I was thinking,Stiles, maybe we could spend more time together. I know I have a tight schedule,but we could try to work around it. "_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Stiles blinks. This is not what he had been expecting._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____He gets an odd warm feeling in his chest, ruthlessly suppresses it. His dad has enough on his plate, he doesn't need this. As if reading his mind, his father adds, "You 'll get to monitor my diet even more closely if I actually show up for dinner some nights. ", eyes crinkling at the corners like he wants to smile._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Stiles narrows his eyes suspiciously but this was too sweet a deal for him to turn down and they both knew it._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Stiles tries not to get his hopes up , but the next night his dad _does _show up.And the night after that. They watch the Mets companionably , side by side, on the couch. Stiles feels ridiculously guilty at first, as if he is taking his dad away from other more important work, but eventually he reasons ,less stress for his dad can only be a good thing, so he relaxes.___ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______He hoards the moments and looks back at them later, savours them. He knows that's a little weird ( isn't it that most teenagers his age can't wait to get away from their parents? ) but hey, he is not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He is going to enjoy this while it lasts. He is conscious of a constant low grade fear that the other shoe will drop, that this won't last, but he pushes that to the back of his mind._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______The sleepless nights are still a thing. The panic attacks still come with frightening frequency. He gasps and shudders his way through them , silently -- or as silently as he can--in his room, praying he doesn't wake his father, thankful he no longer wakes up screaming at least.One night he has an especially bad episode. He lies gasping in his bed, trying to be as quiet as possible.Blackness creeps at the edges of his vision as his heartbeat slows, the adrenaline crash tiring him out as it always does, when he feels a warm pair of arms slide round him. His heart rate makes a weak attempt to go up a notch, then gives up and calls it a day. There are only so many times he can panic in one night and right now he is too exhausted to care. Besides these arms don't feel foreign. He feels warm and safe in them as he drifts off. The last thing he registers before drifting off , is a large warm hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.He finds himself curling into it helplessly , almost against his will, desperate for contact. His breathing slows further and he decides to deal with this later , because he doesn't have the energy now._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______"Let go, Stiles, " he hears a whisper."Just let go and rest , it's okay, it's all right. "_ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______He thinks of giving this creeper a piece of his mind indignantly (he is not a _child _, thank you very much ) but he can't seem to muster the energy.He is still thinking of telling him off hazily, when he falls asleep.___ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

He wants to get better. He knows he does. Theoretically. It’s just that he likes the swimmy feeling in his head when he stands up too quickly and the empty feeling in his stomach too much to give up not eating just yet. It’s just so wonderful to feel thin. To feel the concave hollows in his belly and in between his ribs. The secret dips in his hips and his collar bone. The truth is, he doesn’t need to eat so much anyway. Noone likes a fat , guzzling pig, no matter what people said. Wasn’t it a good thing , that he took up as little space as possible? The less he ate, the more there would be left for other people. The less money his dad had to spend, the better, right? The less time and energy and space he took up ( _wasted _) , the better, right? _Right _?____  
He never wants to be fat again. ( And he was, he _was _, no matter what people said) . He always takes up too much space. He takes up too much everything. He is a drain on everybody else’s time and energy and he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be useful. He wants to be necessary. That is how things should be. He learned that, long ago, when his mother had first started showing the signs of the illness that would eventually take her away, when she began to tire more quickly, had less time, less patience for his non- stop chatter, his tendency to get into trouble constantly. He never meant to, but somehow he always did the wrong thing. He got underfoot constantly. He was always in the way, taking up energy she had little enough to spare in any case. The harder he tried, the worse she got, and it was almost like he made her sicker, just by being around. Almost like he killed her.  
It is a game, seeing how long he can go without food. He can go longer now, than he had thought possible. He almost never feels hungry anymore. The gnawing in his belly as he lies awake at night is testimony of his strength. It’s a reward, not a punishment. It’s incredible, how long he can run on water and crackers and a little diet coke now and then. The headaches and constant, aching fatigue are a small price to pay. It’s worth it. He can do this . He has to. He can eat just the bare minimum to keep himself alive , all the while, decreasing the portions he ate, so he needs less and less. People can get used to anything, right? He can get used to this. He _is _used to this. The smell of food makes feel sick, these days. At times, literally. Those times are becoming more and more frequent, he notices, muzzily. All those calories, piling up. The thought of it makes him want to hurl. Which is a good thing, he thinks dizzily, kneeling on aching knees over the toilet bowl, heaving, emptying the meagre contents of his belly.__  
He blinks away the dizziness, as he runs laps round the field, Finstock shouting at them. The black spots floating in front of him are just a minor deterrent. He is stronger than this, than the demands of his weak body. He is running almost entirely on fumes and stomach acid now. He has been, for days, now . He feels like he is flying, sweat and rain running down his face, legs burning, heart thundering away. His lungs expand hugely and tremble on every exhale , his ribs straining at the thin papery skin. It’s hard to breathe for some reason – he is drawing in maybe half a breath with every inhale. He gasps, swallowing water and tasting salt. He doesn’t know where his teammates are anymore. It doesn’t seem very important, as he can hardly see anyway. It’s getting harder to think, heart fluttering in his chest frantically, like a dying bird. The spots in front of his eyes widen, become brighter, as they swallow up his vision. Finally he stops thinking of anything at all, as the ground rises up to meet him.__

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out my blog on Dylan O Brien here](http://dylanobrienfangurl.tumblr.com/)


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